


what comes after (and how the hell we got here in the first place)

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Everybody Lives, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Group Therapy, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Iruma Miu Being Iruma Miu, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Tsumugi sucks, and so does korekiyo's sister, come on guys hug it out, impromptu haircuts, kiyo just wants a break, literally nobody is cishet, vr au, what the hell is a healthy coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He was supposed to be dead. By all accounts, he should be dead.But instead of waking up in the underworld, Shinguji Korekiyo wakes up in the hospital. The game should've ended with his trial, but Danganronpa is in no way done with him, or any of the others. He must try to recover from the killing game they all volunteered for, but if it was easy as taking pain killers to ease his headaches and return home, there wouldn't be mandatory therapy and guards watching in case someone tried to escape the contract, would there?
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede/Iruma Miu, Amami Rantaro/Shinguji Korekiyo, Chabashira Tenko/Yumeno Himiko, Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 127





	1. i will never leave my bedroom//i will never cry at night again

**Author's Note:**

> minor tw for referenced incest and emeto
> 
> song inspo: Coin-Operated Boy by the Dresden Dolls

If Korekiyo Shinguji was to be honest, he would admit that despite his countless hours studying countless different cultures interpretations of the afterlife, he had never really had a solid idea of what came after. All he had been sure of was that he was most likely going to end up in hell, or Tartarus, or Irkalla, or...something. 

Korekiyo Shinguji had not been expecting his little slice of the underworld to be a dark blue room and muted fluorescent lights, or for his first experience of life after death to be punctuated by blurry vision and what was possibly the worst migraine he had ever experienced in his life. It was difficult to think with those flashing lights and electronic beeping he was almost sure was coming from something around his neck, and his confusion only increased when a team of people in pale green scrubs suddenly seemed to appear, crowded around him. 

They were asking him questions that his mouth seemed too dry to answer properly, gloved hands checking his pulse and his temperature and if his joints still worked. When had he stood up? This didn't make any sense. Someone guided him to what he believed was a gurney, his brain was sorting what muddled information his senses were sending back correctly. More questions were asked, but not a word actually made sense. His head hurt too much. So instead of answering, he simply closed his eyes. This didn't stop the questions, the headache or the poking and prodding, but at least it made him feel less nauseous.

He believed he must have fallen asleep, because when he slowly opened his eyes again, the room had stopped spinning and although he felt no less exhausted than before, he could at least string together a thought properly. Not a long one, but enough. Enough suddenly be very, very aware of how strange this was. After all, Korekiyo was dead. He had been caught, and executed by Monokuma. By this logic, he should be in the process of being sent to his eternal torment for his crimes, or at the very least be stuck in purgatory for the rest of time. Instead he was sitting in...a hospital. He was in a hospital bed, with an IV and a glass of water on the table beside his head. 

If his version of hell was nothing more than being left alone in a quiet room with a headache and no clue how he got there, perhaps he was luckier than he previously thought.

With a quiet groan, he pushed himself up to a sitting position and took a breath. It hurt, and the movement made another wave of dizziness hit, but he had no time to really focus on that. There was a quiet creak, drawing his attention to his visitor. A doctor, he believed, face covered by a mask and holding a clipboard and pen. They waved, movements deliberately slow as if he was a deer, ready to turn tail and run any minute... or a murderer who’d snap at any sudden movements.

“Good morning, Korekiyo. How are you doing today?”

He wanted to answer, but once again the words got stuck somewhere between his lungs and his lips, and instead just coughed dryly. Slowly he turned and reached for that glass of water, trembling like a leaf as he took it. He clutched the cold glass in both hands like a child as he raised it to his lips and drank, eyes closing in relief. He downed the entire glass in one go, pushing back the thought of how much Sister would hate him being so rude. He sighed, finally lowering the glass to his lap and looking back up to the doctor. 

The doctor's eyes crinkled at the corners. Were they smiling? “There, that must be better. Almost everyone is dehydrated when they wake up.” They wrote something on the paper on the clipboard, then turned their gaze back on him. “Let's try again. How are you feeling?”

“...terrible.” He sounded terrible too. His voice was so raspy, and speaking felt like swallowing gravel. Everything was sore, and he had never been more confused in his life. So far, the afterlife had been nothing but uncomfortable. But what a strange welcome. Peculiar choice of words. He would've said so, but all he could get out was hoarse “I...waking up?” 

“Yes, from the simulation.” The doctor gently waved a hand, barely giving him a second to comprehend that absolutely baffling statement before moving on. “I will explain all that in due time. But before that, I need to ask you a few questions. Full name?”

“Korekiyo Shinguji.”

“Age?”

“19...yes, 19.”

“The date?”

Now, that one threw him for a bit of a loop. Time in the academy had been...difficult. There had been clocks and a clear day/night schedule, but he wouldn't be surprised if the bear had lied about that. He had been there for...what? A little over two weeks? If so, then it had to be… “I apologize, I'm not-” Another wheezing cough, although slightly less painful than the last. “-I’m not sure. It's...March, is it not?”

The doctor nodded and scribbled something else down on that paper of theirs, but did not correct or approve of his estimate. How...comforting. “Now...what's the last thing you remember, Korekiyo?” 

“Ah.” The last thing he remembered. “...I’m supposed...to be d-dead.”

He remembered how Himiko had glared at him during his trial, how they all stared at him as he broke down. He remembered that damn bear’s laughter as he was voted guilty, how he had been biting his lips so much that all he could taste as he was dragged off for his own punishment was the bitter wax of lipstick and his own blood. He remembered the pain of the ropes digging into his skin. What it felt like to be boiled alive. 

Korekiyo was crying, he realized. It stung, and made his already blurry vision even cloudier, but he made no move to wipe the tears away. Instead, he simply sat there, staring at the slightly rumpled sheets of the bed as he tried to understand. None of this made any sense. Not at all. By all accounts, he should be dead. His execution, even if by some miracle he had survived, would've left him covered in scars, not just feeling rather sickly and his usual bandages wrapped around his forearms. And if he was in fact dead, the idea of hell not matching any culture’s idea of what came after death was disappointing, to say the least. 

He didn't know how long he sat there and weeped. The doctor stayed there the entire time, not saying a word. Just watching. 

“...That's enough questions for today, Korekiyo. Get some rest, we shall continue this tomorrow.” 

He nodded in assent, despite the fact that he couldn't really hear what the doctor was saying. He sat there for a while, doing nothing but stare into space and listen to the quiet tick of the clock. He was...tired. Tired and sore. If he didn't know that most painkillers can make one rather drowsy, he would ask for something to be added to his IV drip. Instead, he just closed his eyes and breathed.

The next morning, he came to two strange realizations. The first being that despite his migraine having subsided slightly, the soreness and phantom pain had only gotten worse, and the second being that despite the clock saying that he hadn't eaten in at least 12 hours, the platter with water and warm broth a nurse he didn't recognize was carrying made him want to throw up. He still politely thanked him for the food, and tentatively sipped the water, but the smell of the broth was so strong, it made him nauseous. That was becoming a pattern, it seemed. Still, he did try to eat. It tasted only slightly less disgusting than it smelled, and if she were not dead, he would have asked the nurse if he could request a meal from Kirumi. 

Thankfully, when the doctor returned for his second attempt at examination, he brought an ibuprofen with him. Korekiyo breathed a sigh of relief and nearly took the pill dry, only for the doctor to gently chide him in a tone that seemed much too carefree for the situation. Still, he obeyed, and sat back as the doctor clicked their pen. 

“Are you feeling any better today?”

What an odd question. Surely he looked as awful as he felt. If it weren't for the slight fold of crow’s feet in the corner of the doctor’s eye that he was almost sure was a smile, he’d think the doctor was reading off a script. “Marginally better,” He murmured, forcing himself to meet the doctor’s eyes. “I am...still very sore, and it is difficult to stay awake, but I believe I am no longer delirious.”

The doctor clapped, and the sound made Korekiyo flinch. “Excellent, excellent,” They nodded, scribbling down yet another note on that paper of theirs, then glanced up at him. “Now, let's continue where we left off. Judging by your reaction yesterday, you remember how you ‘died,’ correct?” The ‘died’ as in air quotes, and for some reason, that made him more irritated than sad.

“Yes. I do.” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and he found himself leaning forward slightly. The doctor didn't lean back, and he wasn't quite sure why he found that as annoying as he did. “I...have a question. Yesterday, you said I woke up from ‘the simulation.’ What, pray tell, did you mean by that?” 

At least the doctor has the decency to look at least a little uncomfortable at that. Not enough to be satisfying, but enough. “Ah, yes. This must be rather confusing for you, isn't it?” 

“Very much so, yes.”

“You don't beat around the bush, do you?” The doctor sighs, but continues. “Well, the killing game...is just that. A game. A reality show, actually. Very popular, this season’s ratings are even higher than last year’s. You ‘dying’ was fake. A simulation. After their death, players wake up, and we here at Danganronpa will help them recover. If all goes well, you should be ready to leave here in a month or so.”

“...”

How did they manage to say such world-shattering things in such a cheery, uncaring tone? His death was...fake? Rantaro’s murder, Kirumi’s execution? All fake? Made for a television show? That...couldn't be right. He frowned, blinking at the doctor, then suddenly realized just how much he didn't understand. If it was fake, why did he not remember volunteering? Why had those flashback lights made him remember things? Had those been fake too? 

Had...had Sister been fake? Had he killed for nothing?

“I...see.”

The doctor sighed, shaking their head. “I know, it's a lot to take in. Don't worry, I'm a professional. We’ve helped 53 seasons’ worth of people recover and go back.” Then they stood up, patted him on the head, and left. 

As Korekiyo found himself dozing off again, he realized the doctor had never told him their name. Just before he slipped away, he realized it was probably for the best. 

It was his third day in this awful hospital room, and Korekiyo wanted nothing more than to sleep. He still wasn't hungry, but had eaten that disgusting broth again today, and now he was simultaneously tired, restless and nauseous. What fun. And to top it all off, the feeling of his greasy hair was becoming unbearable. He had always made a point to keep his long blueish-green hair clean and silky, at Sister’s insistence, but being mostly bedridden made that difficult. The few times he had stood up to use the bathroom, he had stumbled and almost fallen numerous times, avoiding eye contact with the mirror religiously. But his hair was so dirty it was beginning to stick, and he wasn't sure if he could handle more of Sister’s hissed orders to stop being disgusting. So he did. He stood up and hobbled towards the bathroom, ignoring the sting as the IV was ripped from his arm. That wasn't important. He needed to be clean, to keep Sister happy. 

He threw up twice as he showered, but did not stop until the water had grown cold and he could hear someone calling for him outside. He shakily stepped out of the shower, hair hanging limp as he used this hospital’s awful towels to dry off. When he caught his own eye in the mirror, he almost threw up again. Good god, he looked awful. When had he started biting his nails? When had his eyes turned from amber to a pale, sickly yellow? When had he gotten so thin that his ribs were poking through the skin?

The doctor called his name again, knocking on the door of the bathroom, cutting off his stream of unanswered questions and disgust. With a small sigh, he got dressed and opened the door, walking slowly to hold back another incoming migraine. 

“Oh, look at you! You're doing better already! You know, most patients have to be told to shower.” 

That quiet irritation that had been brewing in Korekiyo for the past three days began to boil over, and he clenched his fists hard enough to hurt. The doctor was smiling. Why was he smiling? In what world was this okay? He had been told, and he had thrown up twice! Now he needed new bandages for his arm, he was cold, and he was more tired than ever! He was in no way ‘doing better,’ he was just lucid enough to be disgusted with himself. He was furious at this idiot now, and if he wasn't so dizzy, he’d tell him off. He was worse than Kokichi, for the love of-

“You know, by tomorrow, I’ll bet you'll be ready to go down and live with the others.”

“...others?”


	2. fragile like i've never seen//you're pretty when you do not speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Korekiyo 'if i ignore the trauma and obvious mental problems, it will go away' Shinguji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for irresponsible medical practices, mentioned character death, implied self-harm and implied incest
> 
> song inspo: Too Close by Sir Chloe

Others...what a strange concept. After the explanation, Korekiyo would be lying if he said that he hadn't felt a sense of relief when he realized that the ones who had died before were alright. Well, ‘alright’ in the barest sense of the word, he supposed. If they were here, ‘alright’ most likely just meant ‘not dead.’ After all, if he really was stable, he wouldn't be participating in a self-induced vow of silence in the hopes that if he stopped talking, everybody else would too.

Speaking of being dead. 

He would much rather be dead than be doing what he was doing right now. If he had known that preparing to meet with the others meant having his perfectly working legs strapped to a wheelchair as an inappropriately jovial nurse babbled to him about  _ “how lucky he was to have been accepted for the show, and how much she liked his character, and how he should do that creepy little laugh for her as she dropped him off because it must sound so much scarier in person,”  _ he just might lose it. Why was he even in a wheelchair? He may have migraines, but his legs were working surprisingly well. And why was he strapped in so securely? Korekiyo had been in hospitals before, and this kind of treatment seemed...excessive. 

Or perhaps it wasn't in this…’Team Danganronpa’s’ eyes. He  _ was  _ a murderer, after all.

“We’re almost there! Are you ready to meet the others? Not everyone is awake yet, but that just means you're lucky. The people here have been pretty quiet for the most part.”

He wanted to tell her that he’d rather be back in that awful killing game than face Angie and Tenko after what he did to them, to tell the nurse to stop making fun of his laugh, that he wanted to go home. He did not say a word. Instead, he stared at his hands that he had folded in his lap like a doll’s, letting his hair fall over his face and tried to breathe. Unfortunately, this meant he had to think about how paper-thin the skin of his hands seemed, or the way they trembled like a leaf in the wind. What he wouldn't give for his bandages again…

The nurse quieted as they approached the hallway, and Korekiyo couldn't help but to crane his neck to peer through the blue-tinted window between him and the others. Were they as silent as him? Did they even know what had happened to them? Kirumi and Kaede must know, but what about...his victims? He must owe them an apology, but how does one even apologize for murder? This didn't feel right. He shouldn't be here, being rolled in a wheelchair he didn't even need in a place he didn't remember entering, after losing a game he  _ didn't even remember signing up for.  _ He’d rather be back in that awful hospital room than here. Perhaps his mannequin impression was just a little too good, because if the panic was showing on his face, the nurse didn't notice. She simply swiped a card and opened the door, then he was passed off to someone else so quickly that he could feel the impending migraine. How exhausting. If he had the energy, he’d say something bitter and sarcastic, perhaps something a little unsettling that would make the others shiver and scoot their chairs away from his in the dining hall-

...what? That wasn't...right. Why would he do that? He knew Sister had always insisted that she was all he needed, but he didn't intentionally try to scare people off. It hurt to think. He didn't have memory problems, so why was it so hard to string together a thought? Why was it so difficult to remember what had happened before the game? He blinked a few times, attempting to clear his vision, although it didn't really work. He was just...stuck. It was...difficult to move, and every breath was loud. Too loud. The sound of the chair’s wheels was muffled, as if there was a layer of cotton between him and the rest of the world. 

He wanted to scream, to pull his hair and scratch his nails deep into his skin and run as far away as he could. 

_ (You mustn't stutter. You mustn't raise your voice. You mustn't lose composure.) _

He did not. 

Instead, Korekiyo Shinguji continued to pretend he was a porcelain doll, eyes fixed somewhere in his lap as he was rolled into a dim room and someone helped him up from that infernal chair and into something much softer. A couch, perhaps. What it was didn't matter. If the nurse currently packing up that chair was talking to him, those words did not matter. He couldn't hear them. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, and even that seemed to be uncomfortably muffled the longer he sat there. 

He sat there for a very, very long time. 

  
  
  


**

  
  
  


“Hey, Kiyo. Almost didn't recognize you without your mask.”

Standing in front of him was a teenager with pale green hair and a small smile. A man he recognized, although they had only known each other for a few short days. Rantaro Amami. The first victim.

“I...what?”

“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you? You looked like you were pretty out of it so I thought I’d say hi, but I’m sorry if I ruined your nap.” The dead boy laughed, albeit a little awkwardly. 

How the  _ hell  _ does one greet someone you thought had been killed by a Rube Goldberg enthusiast?

“No...you didn't wake me.” He lifted his head slowly, suddenly painfully aware of how dry his mouth was, eyes widening ever so slightly. For all his worrying about what seeing the others would be like, it had been such a foriegn concept he hadn't even thought to prepare something to say in advance. Rather a foolish move on his part. Still, he managed to settle on whispering a rather awkward “You...it is good to see you again, although I would much prefer different circumstances.”

Rantaro laughed quietly.  _ How  _ he managed something like that in a place like this was a mystery, although one for a later date. One where he wasn't unable to move his hands without feeling the urge to throw up. 

“That pretty much sums it up, doesn't it?” He was scratching the back of his head now, and even Korekiyo could tell how high the tension was rising. Quick, think. You were an anthropologist (probably, he wasn't sure if that was fake too) for god’s sake. You know enough about people to hold a conversation even if small talk wasn't your strong suit.

“...do I really look that different without my mask?” 

...nailed it.

  
  
  


**

  
  


Rantaro had always seemed strange, even by the game’s standards. No, he wasn't actively attracting his attention, like Tenko or Gonta, or eccentric to the point of becoming an annoyance like Kokichi or Miu, or just...weird. Like K1-B0. He was almost in the same category as Korekiyo, if one ignored how the anthropologist physically stood out when compared to the others. He was quiet and calm when faced with the danger of the killing standards, and anyone who looked close enough could tell that his easy-going nature hid sharp intelligence. Not to mention his seemingly forgotten talent almost instantly marked him as a target. The two of them had barely exchanged more than a few full sentences during the game, but he had assumed that he had a relatively good grasp on his psyche. 

Korekiyo had never been more wrong. It wasn't as if his entire personality for the game had been fabricated, or he was dying of some disease that Danganronpa had promised to fix if he participated in the game. If only it was that simple. He was relaxed, stretched out across the chair beside his seat showcasing some of the worst posture he had ever seen, tossing a small clementine from hand to hand as they chatted. 

Relaxed. Calm. Completely unphased by how awful this situation was. 

What on earth?

Despite these almost disturbing observations, this didn't make him any less easier to talk to. In fact, his ability to take almost everything in stride made him the perfect listener. “I'm not even sure these people are really doctors, to be honest,” Korekiyo sighed, shaking his head at Rantaro. “I have spent a lot of time in hospitals, and they are rarely this unprofessional. It's almost  _ embarrassing,  _ really, that this is the best that ‘Team Danganronpa’ can get.”

Rantaro shrugged, too busy occupying himself by balancing that sad-looking clementine on his head to even pretend to look shocked at his observation. “I'll pass your complaint to Tsumugi when the game’s finished.”

“I'm sorry, you'll  _ what.” _

__ What? What on earth did a cosplayer with a slight inferiority complex have to do with anything? He may have found her obsession with being plain and forgettable mildly suspicious, but he had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Mild bewilderment was quickly becoming the main theme for his stay in this hospital, and he honestly couldn't tell if that was better or worse that the alternative, which could be neatly summarized as ‘long bouts of panic while he practiced his doll impression.’ 

“Meh, I’ll tell you later. That's a whole other level of bullshit.” Right after that ominous statement, he seemed to suddenly become inflicted with an awful case of selective hearing, because Rantaro then chose to ignore his requests for clarification and instead sat up properly to wave at someone behind him. “Good morning, sleeping beauty. Want an orange?”

“That's a clementine.” Korekiyo helpfully interjected, then his brain caught up with his mouth and he realized who was approaching. 

“Mornin’ to you too, dickhead.” He was wearing a different hat, and he shivered slightly from a draft no one else could feel, but that deep voice was unmistakable. Ryoma Hoshi, in the flesh, even though he looked considerable younger without his leather jacket. No visible bones. Definitely no scars that would allude to a past piranha attack. “Nah. Who’s the new one?”

“Good afternoon, Ryoma.” 

“Oh, shit. Didn't recognize you without your uniform, Korekiyo.” He waved, a surprisingly friendly gesture from the almost famously standoffish Ryoma (not that Korekiyo had any room to talk) and leaned against the wall. “So...you're dead too?” He said it so strangely. It wasn't a barb, not necessarily, it didn't seem like he was trying to get under anyone’s skin, but his tone was much too serious for it to simply be a joke. It was...something in between. 

He tried to swallow, but something in the shorter teen's gaze made his saliva form a lump in his throat, sticky and uncomfortable. They...knew. They must know. If Tenko came with no idea who killed her, and Angie was already dead, they must've known that the next would be their killer. 

A rather tense silence followed. Ryoma wasn't pushing him, but he certainly wasn't changing the subject, and he could feel it happening again. That unnatural stillness. The hope that if he sat still and quiet, the panic would stop.

Rantaro came to his aid, thankfully. “Come on, man. He just got moved here, don't be weird or else you're not getting your orange.” He flopped back into his seat, in a position that seemed to be an attempt to ignore the purpose of a chair altogether. 

Rantaro was an angel in human skin. “...clementine. And...yes, I am. It's good to see you again.” Once again, he may not have spoken much to Ryoma, but he would rather spend eternity with them compared to being stuck in that windowless hospital room. Sister...hadn't said a word to him since he woke up, and even though he had no problem being alone, it was considerably more difficult to keep oneself entertained with literally nothing to do. 

The shorter one nodded, the accusatory words left unspoken as he glanced away. How...kind of him. 

Korekiyo cleared his throat, suddenly feeling so much smaller in front of the two murdered. “Ah...speaking of seeing each other...where is everyone else? I thought Kaede, Kirumi, Tenko and Angie would be here too?” His voice trembled slightly as he said the latter two, but this was no time to be cowardly. Hopefully the boys and girls weren't living separately. That would cause a number of problems, his own unconventional relationship with gender being the least of those problems.

Once again, Rantaro proved himself to be an angel in disguise. “Oh, they're here. It's just...Kaede and Kirumi feel sorta awkward with us. You can probably guess why.”

“Angie and Tenko spend most of their time hanging out in the other common room. I think Tenko’s been stealing Angie art supplies, although I'm not sure how.” Ryoma added, pulling a box of candy cigarettes from seemingly nowhere, then eating three in quick succession. 

Ah. That made sense. “I...see. Perhaps I should say hello.” He owed two out of the four girls an apology. Even if they didn't accept it, he needed to see for himself that they were alright. His theory that this was his own personal, albeit strange hell was still on the table, after all.

Through a mouth full of clementine, Rantaro gave him a thumbs up. Somehow, he had managed to twist himself completely upside-down in the chair, although he still didn't fall or choke on his snack. “Go nuts. Just don't sneak up on them, Tenko throws a mean right hook. Speaking from experience.”

Korekiyo laughed, a raspy sound that didn't hold a drop of humour. “Not as if I don't deserve it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooooo boy this chapter was difficult to write. finding a balance between showing that everyone involved is very much not okay and really need therapy and also knowing that coping with humor/or not coping at all by ignoring your problems is a real problem, especially when you're too tired to cry is very real
> 
> anyway thank you for reading and i hope you have a good day!!! 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @twinkfrankenstein


	3. do you like how i walk? do you like how i talk?//do you like how my face disintegrates into chalk?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rantaro is unsettling, although not for the reasons you expect. Group therapy is less helpful than it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for more dissociation, panic attacks, more irresponsible medical practices, referenced murder and implied incest
> 
> song inspo: Ruler of Everything by Tally Hall

For as much as Korekiyo wanted to see Tenko and Angie, actually completing the task was turning out to be incredibly difficult for so many reasons. Firstly, he didn't even know where this second common room was supposed to be, and he'd rather be stuck in a locked room with Monokuma than ask his fellow players or any of the nurses he had seen patrolling this awful place where it was. He didn't have a problem exploring, especially since that would most likely give him a chance to get his bearings and stretch his legs. 

The problem was that he  _ couldn't.  _

His legs wouldn't move, as if his bones had been replaced with lead. This should be easy. He liked going on walks! This shouldn't be this hard, just  _ move your legs. _ Stop pretending to be a statue and just get up-

“You alright? You’ve been staring at the ground for the past ten minutes.” Rantaro’s unfairly calm voice broke through the static separating him and the rest of the world, and he honestly couldn't tell if he was jealous of him or concerned. As comforting as it was to have someone so calm, this level of relaxation bordered on apathy. “Don't fall asleep on us now, it's almost time for the group.”

Ryoma grunted distastefully, rolling his eyes. “Don't say that like it's a good thing. You’ll get his hopes up.” 

Group...if this was a hospital, that probably meant a group therapy session. That...could be alright? Maybe he’d be able to apologize without worrying about Tenko’s so-called famous right hook if they were all together. He exhaled slowly, sitting up straight and reaching up to push his hair out of his face. “Will the others be there?” His voice didn't betray his panic, thankfully. He just sounded tired. 

“Unfortunately…” Ryoma grumbled again, biting clean through yet another candy cigarette. Where did he keep getting those? It was comforting to see that he hadn't changed too much, but at this rate he’d get cavities. “Let's just get this over with. I want to go back to bed.” 

With that, he stood up and pulled his hat down farther, prompting Rantaro to simply...roll off his chair and jump to his feet. How he managed to do so without breaking at least one bone was a mystery. They walked a little bit, then stopped and turned back to stare at him almost expectantly. It dawned on him much too slowly that they were being kind enought to wait for him and his stupid, nonfuctioning legs. 

“I'm...sorry. My legs are...being uncooperative today.” He tried to brush it off, hoping that they would leave instead of staring at him. There wasn't anything particularly cruel about their expressions, but for some reason he still seemed to shrink under them. 

“They're probably asleep, you've been in the same position for a while.” Rantaro smiled at him, hands on his hips. 

Ah. Asleep. That made quite a bit more sense than his current theory, being that he was a brain shoved in a wooden mannequin with nothing more than the barest of necessities to keep him alive. He blinked, then sighed. Out with one problem, in with the next. This truly was hell. “Give me a moment, I just need to wake them up.” With still-trembling hands, he braced his palms on the armrest of the couch and pushed himself up, teeth gritted slightly.  _ Ow. _ He did not remember pins and needles being this painful. 

He was almost up and stable, just a little shaky, but things were fine. Totally fine. Until the first victim continued his pattern of being too kind for his own good and reached out to gently touch his shoulder, saying something about helping him before he slipped and fell, and Korekiyo nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around so fast to shove Rantaro away he almost fell back against the couch. Of course, the second he realized he had just jabbed someone he was almost sure was an angel in the sternum, he began to apologize, but the wheezing boy just waved him off. 

“No, it's my fault, you're probably still jumpy. I shouldn't have touched you without asking.” He was  _ smiling.  _ Clutching his ribs, but smiling. 

Now he really felt bad.

“That doesn't mean I’m allowed to hit you. My apologies, Rantaro. It won't happen again.” Korekiyo held up his hands, stuck somewhere between wrapping his arms around himself and helping this stupidly calm idiot. Thankfully, he did neither, instead regaining his balance and finally standing up straight. At least his legs were working now, he supposed. 

“Are you done? If we wait any longer, the doctor will lecture us again, and then I’ll have to punch them again.” Ryoma sounded thoroughly done with the situation, and he had never been more grateful for the (alleged) tennis master’s blunt nature. It meant he could figure out why the  _ hell  _ he was acting like a scared deer. 

“Apologies.” He mumbled to the shorter teen, although it was more of a reflex than anything. He was following the others to where he presumed this ‘group session’ would be held, albeit a little slower, but that wasn't his biggest concern by far. It didn't even make the top five of his ever-growing list of concerns. No, he was worried about something much more important. His strange new disposition. This was new. He wasn't...fragile. He didn't like to be touched, but he could handle it. He had never physically lashed out at someone for offering to help him. He would never do something so inappropriate. Unnecessary violence was beneath him. Except it wasn't, apparently, because no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, reality seemed to be very different than how he remembered it to be. 

Very different. Very different indeed. In his memory of reality, Angie without a smile was as rare as him without his mask.  _ Nonexistent.  _ Seeing her curled up in a plastic chair with her lips turned down in a distant frown and without her signature pigtails was so out of character that he almost had to do a double take. Seeing her, alive and stuck in a place like this... it was like being punched in the stomach. That was  _ his  _ fault. He was the one who had hurt her. For a  _ television show. _ For a killing streak that didn't even exist.  _ God.  _ If she noticed the new arrivals, she didn't show it. Instead, she fiddled with something he couldn't quite see, although he was almost sure it was a crayon. He slowly let his gaze shift to the left, to see who else was there, and regretted it instantly.

If looks could kill, Tenko’s glare would’ve incinerated him and his entire bloodline in an instant. In fact, she probably wanted to make that a reality, if his judgement was correct. Unfortunately it usually was. She already hated pretty much every man in existence, and him showing up after them was confirmation that perhaps it wasn't too late to become an Amazon. She didn't say anything. Just scooted her chair closer to Angie’s and narrowed her eyes even further. 

It was another dead person who broke his guilty trance. “You’re just going to stand there? Stop wasting our damn time, creep,. Either sit down or get out.” He recognized the voice. Second dead, although this murderer had good intentions. The Rube-Goldberg enthusiast herself. It's just...he didn't remember Kaede Akamatsu sounding so...bitter. 

Still, he wordlessly obeyed, carefully sitting in the chair as physically far away from Tenko as possible. This, unfortunately, stuck him between Kirumi, although she refused to meet anyone’s eyes, and couldn't stop picking at a hangnail, and Ryoma, who seemed completely uninterested in helping. Kaede was a few seats away, who’s empty smile sent a literal shiver through him. Rantaro was the bravest man in the world, it seemed, because he was sitting with only one empty seat as a buffer and the murderous Tenko and still smiling. Amazing. She had literally punched Shuichi for less. Perhaps his calm nature was contagious. 

No one, excluding Rantaro (although Korekiyo couldn't be too sure) in the circle looked happy to be here. No one spoke. 

“Hello, everybody! It's so good to see that no one’s trying to skip now? How are we all doing.” Oh.  _ Oh.  _ He knew that voice. That irritating, jovial, oblivious voice. That hack of a doctor was only tolerable because he hadn't been forced to interact with them more than forty five minutes a day. Given how therapy almost always consisted of hour-long sessions, and group therapy was guaranteed to take longer, that would push him over his doctor tolerance limit. All hope was lost. If only he actually had become an anthropologist, then he could be researching obscure folklore in some lovely country far, far away from here. 

Regrettably, the doctor continued to speak, refusing to read the room. “Do we promise to not start any fights today?” For someone in a room almost halfway full of technical murderers, they were rather fearless. Oh well. The silence that followed was at least...a little bit funny? He supposed?

“...okay, tough crowd.”

Korekiyo wanted to strangle them.

But. But but but. He couldn't do that. Instead, he had to wait for this certainly uncertified doctor to finish organizing the mess of notes in their lap, and try his very best not to make eye contact with his...victims. He needed to apologize, but...how? Tenko would most definitely break a bone or two if he said ‘sorry for killing you two, truce?’ and left it at that, but he had no idea how to properly apologize for  _ double homicide. _ The doctor was saying something, motioning to Kirumi, but he couldn't focus on that. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say. His mouth was dry. His head hurt. Just a few minutes before, he had been congratulating himself for getting through almost an entire day without feeling like puking his guts up.  _ That  _ streak was gone now. 

“-hard to sit still. Every time I do, I...I hear that bear again, and I think I have to run. To escape.” Oh. Right. Kirumi had been speaking. If he wasn't so busy trying to formulate an appropriate string of words to say to Angie and Tenko, he would've felt guilty about tuning her out. 

It was quiet for a few long seconds. Kirumi was done, seemingly waiting for the doctor to finish taking their notes and the next person to speak. The silence continued, and Korekiyo realized with a start that all their eyes were set on him, looking at him expectantly. He was next, it seemed. 

The doctor smiled at him, motioning for him to speak. “Don't be shy. What's on your mind?”

This was it. This was his chance. He could finally say something, at least try to apologize. Reconcile and repent. But when he looked up from his hands, mouth slightly open to speak, it quickly snapped shut again. Everytime he tried, all he could see was Angie’s empty eyes, or Tenko’s furious glare, and the hopelessness of the situation quickly became obvious. Was he a fool? Apologies meant  _ nothing. _ He couldn't fix this. It would be like slapping a bandaid on a severed limb. They must hate him, don't they? He was sitting here, unable to speak or move or breathe, just wasting their time. He had nothing to say to them. He  _ couldn't  _ say a thing to them. Not without making a fool of himself, like how Sister said he was so good at. 

Korekiyo’s arms raised, wrapping up and around his torso in a familiar movement, exhaling slowly. He had to hold it together. He had to stay calm. “...I have nothing to say at the moment. My apologies, everyone, for wasting your time.” He squeezed, hugging himself so tightly it nearly hurt, but he didn't stop. 

If the doctor urged him to speak, he didn't hear it. 

  
  
  


**

  
  
  


It was over. He hadn't realized it right away, and if it weren't for the others noisily putting away their chairs, Korekiyo might've been content to stay in that uncomfortable plastic chair all night. But he didn't do that. Instead he stood up as well, robotically putting the chair away and finding himself unable to make eye contact. It was late, it seemed, and he heard Kaede whispering to Kirumi about what the staff were making for dinner. That was enough to at least partially wake him up, although solely because he didn't want to be stuck in the same room as Tenko anymore, especially not to eat a meal with them. 

Going for a walk seemed rather appealing at the moment. 

He left the room as quickly as he could, trying very hard to not attract the attention of the others. If he could find his room, he could just stay there for the rest of the night and hopefully find a way to gather his thoughts. Perhaps a written apology would be easier. As he walked down the hall, searching for wherever their dorms might be and quietly musing his own cowardice, he came to the realization that he was being followed. If they were still in the game, this would have only annoyed him. But now that he had the knowledge that he  _ wasn't  _ an experienced killer who was more than capable of holding his own in a fight, and was just a tired boy who was probably a bit too skinny for his own good, this momentarily terrified him. Then the person caught up, and he realized it was just Rantaro. Of course, this was problematic in it's own way, but still considerably better than any of the alternatives.

“You good? You were sort of out of it in group.” Rantaro was looking up at him with...a surprising amount of concern. “I guess it's all sort of overwhelming, huh?” He sighed, and for a moment, that mask of apathy seemed to fall away. It was a small change, but he still took note of it. 

“Yes. I am not good at speaking about myself at the best of times, so…” Korekiyo shrugged, slowing down slightly. “I’m looking for the dorms right now. Would...would you mind accompanying me?” Why did he just ask that? He may have been curious about Rantaro, but this seemed completely out of character. And yet he didn't even bother taking back his offer. 

“Oh, totally. I’ll show you where they are.” Rantaro smiled at him, walking ahead slightly and waving him towards a staircase. “All the rooms are up here. I think you're next to Kokichi, though. My condolences in advance. At least he isn't awake yet.”

How unfortunate. But once again, Rantaro was proving himself to be much more interesting than he let on. He acted like this was routine. Even if he had been the first to wake up, no one should be able to get this used to this so quickly. Pairing that with his strange behavior during the game and...well, he couldn't help but be suspicious. Or at the very least, curious. “May I ask you a question?”

“Hit me. As long as it's not about my piercings, I learned my lesson with Miu.”

He...did not want to know what he was referring to. “No. It's just...I was transported here in a wheelchair, even though my legs were perfectly fine. Doesn't that seem strange to you?”

That got a reaction. Rantaro glanced away, rubbing the back or his neck and sighing. “Yeah...apparently in the early seasons, they had problems with people trying to run or attack the staff. So they got wheelchairs.” He frowned a bit, but simply waved his hand in a ‘what can ya do?’ gesture and shrugged. “It was like that last year too, so I'm pretty sure it's nothing personal.”

Using wheelchairs as makeshift restraints.  _ Unbelievable.  _ The more he learned about Danganronpa, the more he hated it. Whoever thought of that solution should have been fired on the spot-  _ Wait.  _ Last year? “I'm sorry, what do you mean by last year?”

“Oh, right. I haven't told you. This is my second game, apparently I somehow managed to get roped into participating twice. It's kind of a funny story-”

“Rantaro.” Korekiyo cut him off, voice just a bit too high for his liking. “If you are going to say things that completely ruin my perception of the world, at least warn me beforehand.”

The green-haired boy saluted.  _ Saluted.  _ “Yessir!” He laughed a bit, although whether Rantaro was laughing at his shell-shocked expression or his own situation was unclear. It was...a nice laugh, albeit quite sad. Over much too soon, because now he was motioning to a door with Korekiyo’s name on it. “And we’re here. The dorms are nice here, at least.”

It had the same type of nameplate as his dorm back in the game, with pixel art of him and his full name. He could feel the bile swelling up in his throat as he stared at it. “...thank you. I will see you in the morning.” He needed to get away from Rantaro and his uncaring smile and the awful antiseptic stench or the hospital as soon as he could, and so he slipped into his room and slammed the door before that bizarre idiot could even say ‘you’re welcome.’ Of course, that left a confused and exhausted Korekiyo with his back pressed to the door as if that could keep the panic out in a room much too similar to the old one, breathing heavily and shivering. 

Out with one problem, in with the next. 

He tilted his head back, eyes closed as he tried to bring his breathing back to normal. It probably took too long to be healthy, but eventually he managed to open his eyes and stand up straight. The room was...boring. None of the tacky decor from the game’s dorms, which he was almost thankful for. The structure was more or less the same, but that wasn't what drew his attention. What drew his attention was the pale green blinds on the far wall. Blinds meant windows. 

He stared at the blinds for a moment, almost afraid to check. The windows in the Academy had been blocked off, would this be the same? It would be cruel, but he wouldn't put it past the  _ lovely  _ Team Danganronpa. He took a step forward, unsure how to proceed. What would he do if it was fake? What would he do if it was  _ real?  _

Before he even realized what he was doing, he had stumbled over to the window and violently threw open the blinds. And  _ oh, _ wasn't it  _ beautiful?  _ The window was small, barely larger than a shoebox, but the sky behind it was real. The sun was setting in a blaze of orange and pink, something the artificial sky in the game had never been able to replicate quite right. He gasped quietly, eyes wide, then he was scrabbling for the locking mechanism with clumsy fingers to open the window. It was equipped with a safety mechanism, stopping it from opening any more than a few inches, but that was all he needed. The heavy, earthy scent of the world after rain filled his senses, such a beautiful smell that he almost forgot where he was. He was crying now, weeping silently as the sun set and the colours changed to a softer indigo, but he didn't even care. 

Before he went to bed that night, Korekiyo was sure to remove the blinds and open the window as far as it would go, and even then he waited long after the sun had set to look away from the sky.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kiyo's trying his best, he really is, but if everything was easy as just saying sorry i wouldn't be writing this. at least he gets a little break at the end? also fun fact, my first reaction to rantaro was me asking my friend 'so is he just a freak all the time or do they explain that'
> 
> anyway thank you so much for reading and i hope you have a good day! sorry for taking a bit long to update, you can yell at me on tumblr @twinkfrankenstein

**Author's Note:**

> aaaAAAAAAA thank you for reading!! this is my first real fic in literal years and im so excited to be posting it!!! korekiyo's my fav, and i just finished v3 and had a huge burst of inspiration, so hopefully i'll keep writing this? if people like it, i think i'll set up a weekly update schedule 
> 
> aaaaaa 
> 
> my tumblr is twinkfrankenstein so come talk to me on there anyway i hope you have a good day!!!!!


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